“You can talk to Taur Urgas until your tongue falls out,” Anheg snorted, “and ‘Zakath probably doesn’t even know or care who you are. As soon as they’ve gathered their forces, they’ll march. The war can’t be avoided, and I for one am just as happy about that. Let’s exterminate the Angaraks once and for all.”
“Isn’t that just a bit uncivilized, Anheg?” Ran Borune asked him.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” King Korodullin said formally, “the King of Cherek speaks hastily perhaps, but there is wisdom in his words. Must we live forever under the threat of invasion from the East? Might it not be best forever to quell them?”
“All of this is very interesting,” Ce’Nedra interrupted them coolly, “but it’s really beside the point. The actual point at issue here is that the Rivan King has returned, and Tolnedra is required by the provisions of the Accords of Vo Mimbre to submit to his leadership.”
“Perhaps,” her father replied. “But young Belgarion seems to be absent. Have you misplaced him somewhere? Or is it perhaps that he still had pots to scrub in the scullery at Riva so that you had to leave him behind?”
“That’s beneath you, father,” Ce’Nedra said scornfully. “The Overlord of the West requires your service. Are you going to shame the Borunes and Tolnedra by abrogating the Accords?”
“Oh, no, daughter,” he said, holding up one hand. “Tolnedra always meticulously observes every clause of every treaty she’s ever signed. The Accords require me to submit to Belgarion, and I’ll do precisely that – just as soon as he comes here and tells me what he wants.”
“I am acting in his stead,” Ce’Nedra announced.
“I don’t seem to recall anything that states that the authority is transferable.”
“I am the Rivan Queen,” Ce’Nedra retorted hotly, “and I’ve been invested with co-rulership by Belgarion himself.”
“The wedding must have been very private. I’m a little hurt that I wasn’t invited.”
“The wedding will take place in due time, father. In the meantime, I speak for Belgarion and for Riva.”
“Speak all you want, girl.” He shrugged. “I’m not obliged to listen, however. At the moment, you’re only the betrothed of the Rivan King. You are not his wife and therefore not his queen. If we want to be strictly legal about it, until such time as you do marry, you’re still under my authority. Perhaps if you apologize and get out of that stupidlooking armor and put on proper clothing, I’ll forgive you. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to punish you.”
“Punish? Punish!”
“Don’t scream at me, Ce’Nedra,” the Emperor said hotly.
“Things seem to be deteriorating rapidly,” Bank observed dryly to Anheg.
“I noticed that,” Anheg agreed.
“I am the Rivan Queen!” Ce’Nedra shouted at her father.
“You’re a silly girl!” he shot back.
“That does it, father,” she declared, leaping to her feet. “You will deliver command of your legions to me at once, and then you’ll return to Tol Honeth where your servants can wrap you in shawls and feed you gruel, since you’re obviously too senile to be of any further use to me.”
“Senile?” the Emperor roared, also jumping up. “Get out of my sightl Take your stinking Alorn army out of Tolnedra at once, or I’ll order my legions to throw you out.”
Ce’Nedra, however, was already storming toward the door of the tent.
“You come back here!” he raged at her. “I haven’t finished talking to you yet.”
“Yes you have, father,” she shouted back. “Now I’m going to talk. Barak, I need that sack you have tied to your saddle.” She rushed from the tent and climbed onto her horse, spluttering with apparent fury.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Barak asked her as he tied the sack of Angarak coins to her saddle.
“Perfectly,” she replied in a calm voice.
Barak’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You seem to have regained your temper in a remarkably short time.”
“I never lost it, Barak.”
“You were acting in there?”
“Obviously. Well, at least partially. It will take my father an hour or so to regain his composure, and by then it will be too late. Tell Rhodar and the others to prepare the army to march. The legions will be joining us.
“What makes you think that?”
“I’m going to go fetch them right now.” She turned to Mandorallen, who had just emerged from the tent. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Come along. I need an escort.”
“Where are we going, pray?” the knight asked.
“You’ll see,” she told him, and she turned her mount and rode at a trot up the hillside toward the massed legions. Mandorallen exchanged a helpless look with Barak and then clanged into his saddle to follow.
Ce’Nedra, riding ahead, carefully put her fingertips to her amulet. “Lady Polgara,” she whispered, “can you hear me?” She wasn’t certain that the amulet would work that way, but she had to try. “Lady Polgara,” she whispered again, a bit more urgently.
“What are you doing, Ce’Nedra?” Polgara’s voice sounded quite clearly in the little queen’s ears.
“I’m going to talk to the legions,” Ce’Nedra answered. “Can you fix it so they’ll hear me?”
“Yes, but the legions won’t be much interested in a speech about patriotism.”
“I’ve got a different one,” Ce’Nedra assured her.
“Your father’s having a fit in here. He’s actually foaming at the mouth.”
Ce’Nedra sighed regretfully. “I know,” she said. “It happens fairly often. Lord Morin has the medicine with him. Please try to keep him from biting his tongue.”
“You goaded him into this deliberately, didn’t you, Ce’Nedra?”
“I needed time to talk to the legions,” the princess replied. “The fit won’t really hurt him very much. He’s had fits all his life. He’ll have a nosebleed and a terrible headache when it’s over. Please take care of him, Lady Polgara. I do love him, you know.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but you and I are going to have a long talk about this, young lady. There are some things you just don’t do.”
“I didn’t have any choice, Lady Polgara. This is for Garion. Please do what you have to do so that the legions can hear me. It’s awfully important.”
“All right, Ce’Nedra, but don’t do anything foolish.” Then the voice was gone.
Ce’Nedra quickly scanned the standards drawn up before her, selected the familiar emblem of the Eighty-Third Legion, and rode toward it. It was necessary that she place herself in front of men who would recognize her and confirm her identity to the rest of her father’s army. The Eighty-Third was primarily a ceremonial unit, and by tradition its barracks were inside the Imperial compound at Tol Honeth. It was a select group, still limited to the traditional thousand men, and it served primarily as a palace guard. Ce’Nedra knew every man in the Eighty-Third by sight, and most of them by name. Confidently, she approached them.
“Colonel Albor,” she courteously greeted the commander of the Eighty-Third, a stout man with a florid face and a touch of gray at his temples.
“Your Highness,” the colonel replied with a respectful inclination of his head. “We’ve missed you at the palace.”
Ce’Nedra knew that to be a lie. The duty of guarding her person had been one of the common stakes in barracks dice games, with the honor always going to the loser.
“I need a small favor, colonel,” she said to him as winsomely as she could.
“If it’s in my power, Highness,” he answered, hedging a bit.
“I wish to address my father’s legions,” she explained, “and I want them to know who I am.” She smiled at him-warmly, insincerely. Albor was a Horbite, and Ce’Nedra privately detested him. “Since the Eighty-Third practically raised me,” she continued, “you of all people should recognize me and be able to identify me.”
“That’s true, your Highness,” Albor admitted.
“Do you suppose you could send runners to the other legions to inform them just who I am?”
“At once, your Highness,” Albor agreed. He obviously saw nothing dangerous in her request. For a moment Ce’Nedra almost felt sorry for him.
The runners – trotters actually, since members of the Eighty-Third were not very athletic – began to circulate through the massed legions. Ce’Nedra chatted the while with Colonel Albor and his officers, though she kept a watchful eye on the tent where her father was recuperating from his seizure and also on the gold-colored canopy beneath which the Tolnedran general staff was assembled. She definitely did not want some curious officer riding over to ask what she was doing.
Finally, when she judged that any further delay might be dangerous, she politely excused herself. She turned her horse and, with Mandorallen close behind her, she rode back out to a spot where she was certain she could be seen.
“Sound your horn, Mandorallen,” she told her knight.
“We are some distance from our own forces, your Majesty,” he reminded her. “I pray thee, be moderate in throe address. Even I might experience some difficulty in facing the massed legions of all Tolnedra.”